


FWB

by iloveyoudie



Series: Friends with Benefits [1]
Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fingerfucking, Friends With Benefits, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26466721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie
Summary: Somewhere, it had veered into a cheeky flirt. It wasn’t odd for two single people who’d come to know one another well. There were more affectionate sign offs next and then little expressions of desire to get together, have a drink, and they both knew what was meant when they said they could have a bit of fun.
Relationships: Endeavour Morse/Shirley Trewlove
Series: Friends with Benefits [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924021
Comments: 12
Kudos: 24





	FWB

"What are you doing?" Shirley glanced around the foyer and then towards Morse’s retreating back as he headed through next open doorway.

"Getting you a drink. What'll you have?" Morse seemed like he may have been evading her, not so much as a hug when he picked her up from the train, just small talk and pleasantries in the car, and a few compliments to him about the house when they pulled up outside. It felt like a tease after a build up of many months of promises.

"You barely even said hello to me, Morse," Shirley stopped in the doorway to the sitting room and leaned against it.

Morse only blinked those pretty blue eyes of his at her cluelessly.

Their correspondence had started innocent enough, letters spaced out over time, friendly updates on their lives when they had a free minute to write. It was a safe way to build a friendship after all that had happened. Several years, all said, before the pair of them talked about deeper things. It had started with George, the way his loss had steered them both, and then the typical oversharing that happened when friends weren’t face to face. Like whispering in a dark room. Long distance pillow talk. It always seemed less real, less committal to share lost dreams and fantasies via paper and pen. Somewhere, it had veered into a cheeky flirt. It wasn’t odd for two single people who’d come to know one another well. There were more affectionate sign offs next and then little expressions of desire to get together, have a drink, and they both knew what was meant when they said they could have a bit of fun.

There'd been a phone call once. Morse had been drunk and she'd had a long week. He’d gotten her last letter and said he’d been thinking about it. In a near hush, he had asked her about that dreaded year when George had died. When they’d had to fake being married for the case. He remembered George going at him a bit, accusing him of making a move. He’d been sour he’d said, told George to grow up, told him to stop worrying about childish things…

George’s memory didn’t haunt her anymore though. She’d laughed a bit, told Morse to relax, said it was a bit funny - typical George.

But Morse, odd sod that he was, said in that watery whiskey soaked way of his that he _had_ wanted to try it on with her. He’d been defensive because George was right. He should've done it when he’d had the chance.

“I know it’s unprofessional,” He’d sounded like he’d been laying down or slumped in a chair. In the dark. She imagined him with a bottle next to him with legs spread and a smouldering cigarette and that brooding intense stare of his, “but now I wish I had.”

She'd had a drink or two herself, probably why they could go from the past to the present so swiftly. Perhaps it would be strange to some to go from talk of death, of a long gone friend, to something more heated, but she did find his candor attractive. She knew him better now than she ever did then, all his gravity mixed with his foolishness. She’d always thought him distant and aloof, a bit of a snob, a ladies man she’d been told, and he was those things, but he was also a bit like fumbling boy. Just as stupid and foolish as George had been in a way, and in the same way it was cute. She probably could have gone for him then, if she’d known him better. At least she knew he had experience.

“If you’d asked nicely,” She had played along with his train of thought, curious and interested, “I may have let you in to our marital bed.”

Shirley was a woman who weighed her options but who also was very clear in what she wanted. She trusted herself to keep it all appropriately in line. She’d spent so long protecting herself for the sake of her career, that now she’d settled into that more comfortably she didn’t see the harm in having a bit of fun. She certainly knew she could handle anything Morse had to offer.

So she asked him in a husky whisper, _‘hypothetically speaking’_ , just what sort of fun they could have had.

Morse told her. In great detail.

She’d thought about it later in the bath, the fantasy he’d painted for her over the crackling telephone line, and again as she settled into bed, his hungry whispers about what he’d imagined between them, and she wondered if he had too after she’d signed off for the night with a _‘Sweet dreams, Morse.’_

And then, like that, it wasn’t long before the pair of them had found the time for that visit, for that catch up, friends getting together for a long weekend of relaxation and fun. There didn’t need to be a discussion of the possibilities.

“Hello,” Is what he said now, with a crooked smile, as he stopped himself just before the drinks table and turned to face her.

"A proper hello," She approached and put a hand on his chest, smoothed it over his shoulder and curled it around his neck, and Morse’s brows raised as he let his hands fall naturally to her waist.

" _Hello_ ," he said again, lower this time, an inviting sort of hushed sound, and they came together gently. Shirley's arms looped around his neck and her nails scratched into his hair as Morse’s nose and lips grazed her cheek. His arms circled her in something near to a hug, a grateful squeeze, before she pulled back enough to kiss him.

It was the first time they’d kissed outside of the written word, outside of a huskily spoken drunken promise on the other end of a telephone line. It was slow and exploratory, sweet and satisfying, and once they deemed it acceptable and enticing and something they should pursue, it became much more promising.

Morse opened to her easily, lips parting as they delved into one another, his hands moving from her hips to her arse, and she responded with nails scratching across his neck and back and shoulders.

When Shirley finally broke away from him she had a hand buried and curled and held in the back of his hair and she steered him until he was bumping back flat against the nearest wall.

"Is this how old friends greet one another?" Morse chuckled breathily as she began to pluck open the buttons of his shirt.

"Friends with benefits, Morse," She pushed his shirt open when it was undone enough and pressed her hands to his chest to scratch again, "I do intend to reap the _benefits_."

He squeezed her arse again, pulled her hips against his, and tried to insinuate a knee between her legs but Shirley moved again, kissed him hard, and Morse used it to his benefit. He rolled them, knocked a painting askew, but managed to turn the tables enough to pin Shirley against the wall.

His lips were at her throat, on her fluttering pulse, when he murmured, "Turnabout’s fair play," and plucked her blouse open one button at a time. His lips traced down her throat and across her collar bone as the collar of her top slid open. He tasted her skin, tongue tracing along her clavicle and with every bit of delicious visible flesh it became obvious that she’d prepared for this. She had, in fact, changed on the train from relaxed travelling clothes into the skirt and blouse and heels she’d hidden under her duffel coat until her arrival at Morse's home. Shirley had worn something sheer and lacy underneath it all, an impractical bra that lifted but barely restrained her breasts, her pink nipples nearly spilled from the deep cut of the thing. Morse’s face fell to them, rumbling a pleased sound as he cupped her and worried them to pebbled hardness between the rough lace and his fingers and thumbs.

As each button gave way, Morse slipped lower with a trail of kisses down her body until he was on his knees and her top had been tugged completely free of her skirt. Shirley’s hands buried in his hair as his mouth moved along her ribs and belly. The gentle brushes of his lips and nose and the darting of his tongue fluttered hotly through her. It also tickled and she couldn’t help a gentle laugh when nipped at the skin by her navel. Morse looked up at her, a cheeky smile on his lips as his hands finally began to move up her legs. His fingers smoothed along her calves, appreciated the lovely feel of her stockings on her skin, tickled over her knees and made her huff and wriggle and nudge at him, and finally settled on her thighs with an appreciative squeeze.

Shirley spread her legs for him, shifted her hips so her skirt could ride up and up and up until the tops of her thigh highs were visible, the strict black binds of her garters, the creamy flesh of her upper thighs where they were held strapped and restrained in lace and elastic. Morse made a sort of surprised sound, a deep hungry groan of positive appraisal, and couldn’t stop himself from darting into her inner leg to press his mouth to soft bulges of skin where they were free of the nylons.

Shirley rested her head back against the wall, held herself stable by her grip on Morse’s thick hair, and lifted one leg to curl over his shoulder. She hooked it against his back, her heel digging into him as her shoe dangled precariously from her toe. Morse snapped a garter in his teeth and it made her gasp, and when she looked down at him with a _‘Tsk, tsk’_ he couldn’t help another approving murmur, this time into her skin, “You’re so bloody sexy.”

She laughed, not mockery, genuine joy. A bubbling light and lovely feeling aside from the heat of the rest. He was teasing her now, dragging this all out, and he knew by now from where he was kneeling that she hadn’t even worn knickers. Still Morse continued to lavish his attentions on her thighs, her inner knee, the snaps of her hosiery which left pink marks on her pale skin that he laved over with his tongue. It was maddening, arousing, and absolutely better than she ever expected.

“ _Morse,_ ” She moaned insistently as she felt him suckle on her inner thigh, a pinch of heat she knew would leave a mark, and she tugged his silvering hair until his lips were wrenched away, “Get on with it.”

Morse pinned her again with those big blue eyes of his eyes, let her gripping hands guide his head, and curled an arm around her lifted thigh as he finally pressed his face into her eager body. He slid his hand across the soft damp of her, spread her with his fingers and hummed with satisfaction as finally dipped into her with her tongue. Shirley was eager, already charged with anticipation when she felt him lap across her, his tongue press inside, his nose nuzzle against her with an enthusiasm and satisfaction she hadn’t known in a partner in a long time. He wanted it as much as she did, had waited for it and thought about it just as she had. Morse kissed into her in the ways he’d promised, pulled back to slip his fingers inside so he could flick and suckle across her clit, nuzzled his nose against her dark curls with enthusiasm as he hungered for her taste and smell. Shirley had known what she wanted the moment she’d arrived, him on his knees with his face buried in her, pulling gasps and cries from her with his clever tongue and nimble fingers.

She arched against the wall, just as it felt like it would soon be too much, gasped and shuddered and pulled his hair in her ecstasy, hard enough to make him twinge when he pulled his mouth away. Shirley exhaled as her tingling body was given a moment of relief, as her tensed muscles had a moment to relax, and she released him from her clutching hands. She smoothed her hands through his hair in apology and smiled at him, still on his knees before her with his lips and chin slick with her.

“You’re beautiful,” Morse murmured as he placed another kiss to her thigh. It trembled almost immediately with near over-stimulation, “I think I’d like to live down here.”

“Half tempted to let you,” She licked her lips, “But you’ve got a dozen promises to fulfill, Morse.”

“Oh?” His nose and lips trailed once more up her thigh and she knew when he finally went in on her again that she wouldn’t last long, “I can barely remember the checklist. You’ll have to remind me.”

“You’re memory is impeccable so far,” Shirley took a deep breath, used the momentary lull to stretch her back out, to let loose her hair, and when she found him admiring the way her body moved with his lips still pressed to her thigh, she ran her hands across her breasts, over the lace she’d bought and worn just for him, and twirled a finger in her hair like all those pinups did. He snorted a laugh and so did she, and then once more Shirley pushed her hands into his hair. He was going silver now, letting it grow out with the current style, and she found him more fetching than ever.

Morse caught her wrist, turned the inside of it to his lips and kissed it. He kissed her palm. He curled her fingers around his hand and kissed the back as if he were some knight pledging himself to her before a grand tourney and it was a whole new level of attraction and arousal, something deep and satisfying, emotional as well as physical and she almost wanted to scream for the undefinable rush of it.

Finally, _finally,_ Morse released her hand and pressed his mouth between her thighs once more. She arched and gasped as he lost all restraint, not bothering to ease her towards anything. Morse had a goal and he planned on achieving it with gusto. He brought her to orgasm with his fingers inside her, deep and quick and clever, his mouth against her slick velvety warmth, his tongue flicking, his lips suckling, his own pleasure in the act like the icing on the cake as she felt him breathe and moan and hum into her body until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

Shirley became a shuddering, writhing mess. Her shoulders rolled and her chest heaved and her thighs quivered where she stood. She worried she may tumble to the floor as her body tensed, as everything built up, a charge between them that could only lead to explosion, until she was crying out, a low and desperate plea of his name, “Morse!”

Shirley seized and shook and nearly tore out his hair until he released her from the devilish workings of his mouth and hands. Morse dropped back to his heels and watched her, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as she came down, one hand in her hair and the other still on his head. She both clawed at him and pet him in equal measure until her breathing slowed and he could catch her hand again. He just held it, clutched it, pressed soft kisses to her wrist until she was finally opening her eyes and smiling down at him.

Shirley caught his chin and guided him back up, pulled him close so she could kiss him and taste herself on his lips.

“How’s that for a hello?” Morse murmured with a smile as she kicked her shoes off and relied on his arms to hold her weight for a few quiet minutes in the afterglow.

She laughed and let her head fall to his shoulder, let his lips drift over hers, let him slip the strap of her lacey bra down so he could pay gentle attention to the curve of her neck and the slope of her shoulder. He felt overdressed now, Shirley thought, she could feel him hard and eager through his trousers but he didn’t push her for anything yet.

No, he was waiting for her to give the go ahead. How chivalrous.

Shirley lifted her head again when she found her legs again. She slid her hands over his back and around his shoulders and across his chest again. She scratched her way down to his waistband and ghosted her lips across his cheek in a well meaning tease. Shirley grabbed Morse’s cock through his trousers without much warning and he let out a surprised groan.

She laughed, nudged their noses gently in a nuzzle, and placed a kiss at the corner of his mouth before she whispered playfully, “My turn.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just wanna make some friends fuck.  
> Also Shirley gets what she wants. She deserves it.
> 
> As always, my indefinable middle aged timed period marks this as between TV series so i've tagged it both Inspector Morse and Endeavour. Let you decide when it happens.


End file.
